Revolutions
by Angelfirenze
Summary: These things...take time./To Hell--with that./You don't believe in.../He doesn't care. get-house-laid Round One OT3 fic originally written last July.


**Revolutions (Or Countless Ways House, Cuddy, and Wilson Did Dirty Things and One Way They Didn't)**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Augusten Burroughs and Evan Rachel Wood are real people. They were each involved in one of my favorite movies, ever, _Running With Scissors_. River and Simon Tam are fictional characters from Firefly/_Serenity_. More on that later. Oh, yeah, and Shore, et al. own the Triumvirate. Curses! Oh, right, and non-spoilery references to Harry Potter because we already know House and Wilson are fans, which is...squees

**Summary:** These things...take time./To Hell--with that./You don't believe in.../He doesn't care.

**Timeline:** AU, but with most of canon thrown in, because I simply cannot abide Shitter tromping all over the Triumvirate's lovely tangle, now can I?

**Prompts:** **gethouselaid**, _187. House/Cuddy/Wilson -- weekend-long threesome sex with the aim of babymakin'_ and _202. Any tie-kink!Wilson (or tie-kink anyone for that matter) is greatly appreciated!_ Enjoy!

**Rating:** FRMA, for the obvious reason...

**Note:** pre- and established OT3, because who doesn't love that

_House could remember the night it happened. That day, he and Wilson had been about to step into the elevator and Cuddy was already on it. The two of them had shared a look over her head for a fraction of a second. Each had taken one look at the other and by the time she'd gotten off, they both had to think consciously of as many inane and completely innocuous things as possible to tamp down the erections trying to emerge. It hadn't worked and they'd both ducked into Wilson's office closet, each thanking any and everything possible that House had managed to make it in to work early for once._

Each had watched the other, listened to their own stifled, mingling moans as they both came in quick succession...wondering what Cuddy looked and sounded like when she did. That, House believes, is when the plan first started to hatch...

There was something to be said for taking a spill in a puddle of vomit, House had to admit, bruises be damned. Wilson's obsessive fussing over his wellbeing guaranteed that he'd be accompanied to the shower and that Wilson would stay right there until he finished. House was in the first stall now, the seat cold beneath him because the water hadn't heated it up yet. It didn't matter, though. He needed the cold right now because without it he wasn't going to able to finish this shower without...he was on-call, on a case, damn it...it could wait until later. It had to.

Then Wilson's impatient huff from the other side of the door caught his attention.

"Is there somewhere you needed to be," he sniped, cranky at being forced to rush. "Because I'd gladly break a hip if it meant you got there faster."

"Oh, shut up and shower," Wilson snapped and House could hear the scowl in his voice and barely managed to hold back a moan.

He washed as quickly as he could, trying desperately not to begin stroking his (already uncomfortably hard) shaft and just finish so he and Wilson could get back to their respective patients. He tried not to think of what it'd feel like, grinding himself along Jimmy's back, leaning over to pinch and rub Lisa's nipples, her moan urging them both on until Jimmy was positively writhing beneath him...

The fact that they were all clothed in his imagination didn't mean a damned thing if his dick had anything to say about it. He bit back the urge to grunt, trying to think of masticated food, fetid breath, _anything_ besides the bodies he'd give anything to be inside of (and vice versa) right that minute.

He shut off the hot water, then, turning it fully to cold and snarling a curse that went unheard, apparently, as his erection thankfully disappeared.

He shut off the cold, too, then and groped for the towel he knew Wilson had waiting for him.

"You know," Wilson whispered grumpily, leaning in his ear once he was dressed and they were back off to their respective departments. "If you wanted me to join you, all you had to do was ask."

"If you wanted to _join_, all _you_ had to do was say so," House replied, giving him the finger before stumping back into his office, pissy, annoyed, and cackling on the inside.

Wilson sat in his office, fuming at the pile of paperwork on his desk. He would have liked nothing better than to fling an arm across his desk to sweep it all into the trash can. He slogged through it, though, knowing it was well worth his time to give his patients the best care he could. He sighed and glanced at the Zen garden he'd fished out of his wastepaper basket. He'd been lucky (and House, most of all, the asshole) that there hadn't been anything else in the bag and he could just pour the sand and rake back into their tray.

Sighing with relief after signing off the last of it, Wilson stood and stretched, walking out onto his balcony and leaning back against his glass window. The sky was dark and inky, the few stars barely visible. He remembered walking in on House and his team using his office as an impromptu conference room and rolled his eyes before blinking and biting his lip at the ways he could get revenge on House for that little stunt. He imagined crossing the walls between their balconies, sliding open the always unlocked door and stepping inside. Greg would be busy with whatever case file he never actually planned to turn in, possibly a pen in his mouth, and Jimmy would come to stand next to him, his eyebrow raised. Greg would give him an appraising expression and Jimmy would grab the oversized tennis ball and make a jumpshot, the ball clanging into the wastebasket beside Greg's other desk. Greg would turn to get the ball but Jimmy would stop him, taking hold of his shoulder and forcing him to stay still. Jimmy would sink to his knees, not caring whether the blinds were closed or not and his hands would undo the button and zipper of Greg's jeans, leaving the line of hair that trailed down his stomach visible. Greg never wore boxers in his dreams, so why should he start now?

He'd blow gently on Greg's stomach, gripping those wrists to keep those hands from tangling in his hair, and he'd lean over and blow once again into the shallow gap between the jeans and the skin they concealed. Greg would moan and arch into the space between them, but Jimmy would give him a look and Greg would comply (the only time he would ever do so) and lean back, those blue eyes burning into his as Wilson released one wrist to reach into the jeans and take hold of Greg's cock, running his thumb lightly over the tip and relishing the gasp and moan he got in return.

Jimmy would stroke and add that little twist that he knew made Greg hiss, his tongue occasionally darting out to lick the slit of Greg's head, watching greedily as Greg's hands clenched into fists, muttered curses and whispered urgings pouring forth and then Jimmy would dart up and run a hand under Greg's t-shirt (the emblem changed every time, he had so many) and pinch his nipples, traveling around to Greg's shoulder blades and scratching gently as his tongue entered Greg's gaping mouth, forcing it to close before pulling away, chewing softly on his lip and standing to back up, Greg's face, his _eyes_ pleading and scandalized. And Jimmy would smirk and leave Greg to finish what he'd started. It served the bastard right after all.

Wilson opened his eyes to find his left hand down the front of his pants, firmly gripping the erection tenting the cloth surrounding it. He gave into the whim dancing around the edges of his (already waning) self-control, whipped his hand momentarily out of his pants, and slid over to Greg's side of the balcony (somehow managing not to break his neck, but now was not the time to disseminate on such things), shoving his hand back down around his cock and opening House's balcony door with his right.

Greg, alone after hours and with a pen in his mouth, eyes automatically locking on Jimmy's hand down his pants. It doesn't _quite_ end the way he'd imagined (there are still boxers to be unpeeled, hands not quite restrained) and his hair is mussed when they leave, but it's close enough.

It's good, Wilson thought, to be a step or two from psychic.

Lisa couldn't exactly say she's disappointed or even really upset when she discovered her two most troublesome department heads had broken into her home (a frequent habit for House, that bastard). She was absolutely astounded, however, to find them making out on her kitchen counter. Wilson was standing, pressing intently as House sat on the counter, his legs astride Wilson and pushing right back. Lisa could plainly see the erections they both sported. They only noticed she was there when the sharp jangle of her keys hitting the floor jolted them back to their senses.

She glared, trying for incredulous, but knowing she was failing miserably from the unapologetic and positively lecherous looks in their eyes. House, she would expect this from, followed by another aside about her breasts or her ass. Wilson's more subdued form of unbridled lust, however, she was completely unprepared for.

"Lise," House said softly, using that nickname from so long ago that she'd almost forgotten it.

"Have we ever told you how beautiful you are?" Wilson whispered in the silence that had descended around them.

"Have we ever told you we jerk off in Jimmy's office closet half the time when we see you?" House interjected back in, a cocky grin on his face. "You should see it, it's hot as hell."

And all she could do then was laugh, and cry a bit, because she hadn't been looked at quite like this in a very long time...if ever. Wilson disentangled himself from House's gangly legs and walked over to her, taking her hand and leading her back to Greg, who reached up and brushed a stray hair away from her face before kissing her. He tasted like she imagined James would. Basil and orange-flavored Listerine. She laughed and Greg took the opportunity to delve into her mouth and James' taste mingled with newer and yet more familiar ones. Cherry fizz lollipops he stole from the clinic nurses' station while Brenda turned a blind eye. The bitter tang of Vicodin popped like the Tic Tacs he pawned off James at times (also orange, she realized faintly, and part of her wanted to giggle at their similar tastes in fruit), bitter and acidic, and under that something she remembered from long ago, grass, sweat, and water dumped over his head after a lacrosse game.

He was so different, yet still the same, and she's loved him so much all this time that it had become habit and she'd almost forgotten that, too. She's glad he (they) reminded her. She's loved James, too, she knows, hating his last wife with a passion she didn't previously think herself capable of. Lisa had been tempted to have that castrating bitch banned every time she'd come snapping at James' heels for divorce settlement drudgery she'd known could be done in private, just to humiliate him as often and as much as possible. The entire fourth floor, as well as the clinic staff shared her ire, she knew. But Julie was gone now and she--they had Jimmy all to themselves. She took a breath and tilted her head to the side, a sigh escaping her mouth as James' tongue licked the rims of her ears and House's fingers played along the hem of her blouse. Jimmy's hands were around her waist under her jacket now and she wanted nothing more than for them to take it off. But she could wait, she knew. It was worth it and a little patience wouldn't hurt.

"These things...take time," she tried to moan as House rocked into her, Jimmy groaning behind him, their combined weight being borne by their knees so as keep from crushing her. Part of her wished they would, lungs be damned. She felt like she was dying anyway, on the verge of screaming as she watched Wilson grip House's bicep so hard, he bruised it. House didn't seem to notice and was staring her in the eyes.

"To Hell with that," he breathed harshly, his lips coming down to nip at her neck and she hissed as Jimmy hit a particularly sensitive spot and House's teeth clamped down on her skin, and they were all breathing so hard it was the only thing they could hear.

"You don't believe in..." she tried to remind him, but Jimmy pulled out first and sat back, his cock still erect and slick with lube, his hair in his face and his eyes hard with desire.

"He doesn't care. Lisa, just...please..." his eyes pleaded for something she couldn't comprehend and she faltered but Greg gently turned her face back to his.

"We like to watch. Just...let us watch."

And Lisa's eyes started to close when House thrust again, but she forced herself to keep them open, moaned deeply, and stared in return. Jimmy was stroking himself, his breathing harsh, but he wouldn't let himself come. House, too, seemed to be holding out, moving languidly and she wished they both hurry the fuck up, but she couldn't bring herself to deny them this, no matter how much she wanted to. She could be selfish she knew, but not with them.

She came at last, biting down into Greg's shoulder, her eyes on them as theirs burned and she shivered from the sheer exhilaration running through her. Jimmy shoved himself back at the last possible second, both of them grunting and shuddering inside and around her and Lisa could've sworn they'd practiced this if it wasn't for the adoring, grateful smiles on their faces and their hands running up and down her body like the world's best massage. They cleaned up quickly and fell back into bed, the boys half-heartedly arguing about whether to change the sheets and Lisa won by default, but it didn't matter because they'd all found their home.

The added bonus of watching two naked men changing her bedsheets didn't detract either, of course.

House lay in his huge bed, back at his apartment for the first time in a week. Lisa had paperwork and Jimmy had terminal patients. So he was alone. He hated it. The conspicuous absence of bodies beside him was barely assuaged by the large body pillows he'd aligned himself with. He turned and pulled himself atop one, his breath quickening in time with his heart as his erection returned with a full battalion of fantasies for back up. They flickered through his mind at a relentless pace and he wished he hadn't cancelled his Skinemax subscription. At least then he could pretend it wasn't so personal. Scowling, he gripped the pillow, smelling Wilson's hair and the scent of his skin on it and it was all he could do not to...fuck.

His dick, it seemed, was not having any of the previous week's bullshit and had staged a coup. He imagined their snark and their feigned protests before reciprocating like he'd known they would all along and grunted hard as he arched forward, thrusting into the pillow while reaching blindly for the other, pretending it was Lisa's waist. He turned at the last second, his mouth falling open and his eyes sliding shut as waves of pleasure rolled over him, leaving him sticky and barely able to open his eyes, let alone move.

James and Lisa came in that night to find House asleep in his t-shirt and pajama pants, curled around the pillows, gripping each one to himself, damp, sweaty, and smelling of sex.

They smirked quietly to one another in the dark and knew they'd been missed.

She didn't know who to pick to be the father. Greg suggested a lottery. Lisa rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm at first, but the look on Jimmy's face left her taken aback.

"Let God and the universe choose," he explained and Greg sighed at the prefix of it but grinned at the suffix. Lisa shook her head and bit her lip, wondering why out of all the men in the world, all the doctors in her hospital, even, she had to fall in love with the troublemakers who are nothing more than terrible influences on each other and her, as well.

"First spermatozoa to the ovum wins!" Greg crowed from his position sprawled across his couch. Jimmy had already moved into Lisa's house but Greg was a stubborn asshole, born and bred. Lisa reasoned with him that there was more than enough space in her house for all their things. He flipped it back on her by asking why the hell she bought such a big house if she was going to live alone.

"Maybe I was just waiting," she said softly, running hands through both his and Jimmy's hair, and Greg blinked and muttered that he'd think about it.

They moved House's things in on a Thursday, all of them having taken the day off. House sighed as his big bed and desk both fit in one room. He knew he wouldn't be using them much anymore, but didn't seem to care. Maybe they can be adventurous. Maybe the kid could use it when they got old enough. He ignored the snatches in his head of 'if' and prepared for battle, so to speak. He'd have to make sure he beat Jimmy to the punch...but _how_? He wished he had a moustache to twirl while lost in thought.

It was like a checklist in his head. None of them are to be left out of this without at least some part in it, but none of them would crowd the others. They wouldn't drift apart. Whatever will be, shall be. Or something like that. He could never remember where that quote came from. Whatever; he was staring at Lisa and Jimmy as he stroked in time with Jimmy's thrusts. By all logic, he really shouldn't have been able to concentrate. Maybe he didn't pack enough punch for himself anymore. Then they looked at him and they all seemed to come at once. _This is_ not _normal_, House thought for half a second before Jimmy pulled out and he moved as fast as he could to taste his two favorite flavors at once.

Somehow, it didn't matter that he's already come. Jimmy's fingers were lubing him up, moving in and out, and he could feel them fingering his prostate and it was like a cheat sheet or something because suddenly he was Super!Luigi (he's always hated Mario's high and mighty ass) storming Bowser's castle and he's found a fireball flower. He wasn't shooting blanks; that much he knew.

Is it a race anymore? Does he even fucking care?

She couldn't see her feet anymore, now, but it didn't matter because it turned out she liked to look, too. Lisa would watch as Greg would lie beside her, Jimmy topping, their breaths all hard and panting, and House would grip the edges of the mattress, turning and burying his forehead into the pillow next to her, moaning as Jimmy drove into him, and they'd all stare at each other and Greg would whisper, somehow managing to keep his voice steady, "Touch yourself," he'd command and she'd retort right back.

"You first."

And Greg would smirk and rear up with Jimmy's help, gripping the headboard one-handed as his hand wrapped firmly around his cock and Jimmy's right hand gripped his waist while his left would take hold of Lisa's hand and guide it down to her center and they'd all see each other, looking as hands moved and bodies surged and then Greg would lunge backward, thudding against the hardness of Jimmy's chest (Greg was stealing his lunches again, so his 'weight regimen' had returned) and Greg would let go, Jimmy's hand immediately coming up to resume the previous one's duty. Greg would reach back, gripping the nape of Jimmy's neck and they'd come, sticky and warm all over and Lisa would sigh, shiver, and follow right along.

It's not a race, he's decided, panting at the low-lit ceiling of Lisa's (their) bedroom and he's struggling not to fall asleep on top of Jimmy, who's rubbing circles with his thumbs over Greg's shoulders and occasionally sliding back down to finger the slit he seems to love so much and Greg hisses and Jimmy laughs. Greg manages to sit up and Jimmy slides out and goes to get the towels and fresh sheets. Lisa's favorite thing to do over her time off was laundry and Greg has a suspicion he now knows why. All he wants to know is who's responsible.

One night, when Jimmy's off with a patient and it's just the two of them, he asks her. Lisa chuckles and gestures to the drawer of toys and lube he wouldn't let Chase open during their 'search and rescue mission' the previous year and whispers, "Who do you think?"

It's a tough decision, but he knows she's tired, so he settles for a shower instead. Damn him, being such a generous bastard.

Little by little, who likes what comes out. Greg comes harder than he thought he ever would, staring upward at Lisa's rolling body, two of Jimmy's silk ties anchoring him to her wrought-iron headboard. Jimmy's helping her take most of the weight off his leg, but it's plain to see he wants to come himself. Greg manages to gasp out that it would be unfair not to let him. He's never understood how Jimmy can manage to stand so still while being drawn in and out of his mouth, but it's been plenty of fun trying to break his resolve. He wonders if this will be the day he'd be forced to move and can't. He's almost desperate enough to take a Vicodin or six and find out.

The first time the doubt really hits, he's staring with Jimmy over Lisa's shoulder at the sonogram picture stuck to her refrigerator. Two tiny bodies nestled together inside separate placentae within the woman standing between them. The woman they both loved and who loved them. It was a miracle. A _tie_. He wonders if he can manage _not_ to completely fuck them both up. The only reason he's probably even half-sane (if that) is because his own mother was like a cloud shielding him from the glaring heat of his father's anger and disappointment. Then he feels Wilson's arms circle them both and a warm content feeling washes over him as they take his hands and lead him to bed.

Jimmy finally got his wish from months earlier the day before Greg's parents were due to arrive. Greg had rolled his eyes and dragged them both into the shower (his own bathroom out of three, retrofitted and made 'cripple-friendly') and shoved Jimmy's naked body down on the seat.

"I'm counting on you," Greg told him and Jimmy nodded, bracing his hands on either side of Greg's hips, knowing that when he lost control he tended to clench instead. Falling would be disastrous, they knew, not to mention hard as hell to explain--

_Enough thinking!_ Jimmy commanded himself, focusing on Greg's eyes as he licked down his stomach and Greg moaned.

"You love that shit, don't you? You're an evil little oncologist."

"Hypocrite with too many specialties to name in a proper insult," Jimmy muttered, licking the head of Greg's penis like he had so many times before before taking him all the way in and feeling House's groan of pleasure. He laughed around the dick in his mouth and swirled his tongue, reinforcing his hold on House's hips so that he didn't slam into the back of Jimmy's throat. Jimmy felt Greg's muscles writhing beneath his fingers, felt his cock trembling in his mouth and loved it.

Jimmy wants to hear Greg come, he knows. Jimmy adores the low moans and hitches in his breath, the way Greg's head lolls to the side and the words, most of them not even in English, that tumble from his mouth. He loves coming as he tastes Greg and all his splendor sliding down his throat. Then it's over and they switch positions because they _did_ come in here to shower after all.

It's weird. It's an infinitesimal chance and the world is crashing together, not at all to House's liking. Lisa's pregnant, which is beyond awesome, but his parents are coming to visit for Easter (though his father was the only one who celebrated and out of sheer habit at that) and Passover. His mother doesn't bother him; she's known since he was sixteen and nervous and liked both a boy and a girl and didn't know what the hell to do about it. 'Let things follow their due course,' she told him and he'd relaxed and they had. So he lost his virginity to that same boy insanely late behind the commissary? As long as his father didn't find out about it, the rest of the base didn't have to either. He could wear collared shirts to hide the bites on the back of his neck and say that he'd decided to go for a walk. His father would snarl that who the fuck goes for a walk at three o' clock in the fucking morning and he'd say he did and his father would backhand him, knocking him to the floor. The rainwater from his waterproof jacket would roll onto the floor and mix with his blood and his father would stand there staring until Greg's eyes landed on the ceiling and he let himself fall into a daze. His mother would wake him in the morning, the smell and sting of rubbing alcohol in his nose and cheek as she cleaned his wounds. And he'd thank her for being his Secret-Keeper, as it were. That was their function, right? To hide it deep inside their own souls and never tell a soul? Or maybe she'd made an Unbreakable Vow to him and he hadn't known it at the time. He certainly wouldn't want her to die on his behalf.

Sometimes he almost wished he'd get caught because he wouldn't have to feel like such a liar anymore. He hated lies and this one of omission was making his soul crumble away into nothing. Or so he felt.

Getting caught almost became a thrill, but not really, because the fear had still been overpowering. They hadn't and at first it was a relief because he'd gotten bloodied and beaten at his father's hands enough for more than one lifetime for far fucking less, but eventually it started to weigh on him and the baggage just seemed to keep adding up. He tried to hide it in an attic or something because closets were just too small, but one day the ceiling was going to crush him and he could feel the support beams creaking even now.

"So, wait...who's the father?"

Greg's hand found its way to his nose, where it pinched the bridge and he glanced over to see Jimmy doing the exact same thing. Inside, he chuckled. Outside, he scowled.

"We _both_ are, Dad," he says, trying for flat to ward off any condescension. "We'll each be called different names, obviously, but we're both going to be the fathers."

"This is...is..."

House scowled and shook his head, glaring past his father's searching expression to find his mother and Lisa chatting happily in the kitchen. _Oh, joy._

"If you don't like it, fine. I don't care."

Jimmy was staring at him now, he knew. He didn't acknowledge it; simply watched as his father's mouth twisted into that familiar frown.

"I didn't say that--"

"You didn't say anything else, either. It's a little difficult to know that playing for both teams won't have you kicking my ass when 'taking a walk' will."

John was gaping at him now. "You...when you said that--you--were..."

"Out losing my virginity. Behind the commissary, I should specify. Wow, what a night. Maybe it would have been better behind the PX--I'll never know."

"House!" Jimmy burst out, obviously torn between embarrassment and incredulous laughter. "Are you _trying_ to get your license revoked?"

"For what?"

"For giving your father a heart attack!"

"Oh. Right. No. Oops."

"You...how the hell did...why didn't...?"

Greg watched his father struggle to form a coherent sentence and decided to put him out of his misery. "I didn't know, either. That I could tell you. I couldn't even tell Mom. Not in words. I'm pretty sure there were some used, but I don't think they made any sense. Nervousness doesn't exactly lend itself to proper communication."

Then he felt the side of his mouth come up in a scowl without even trying. "And we never communicate. We fight. We've never talked. I talk with Mom, I fight with you. That's how it's always worked."

_And when there wasn't fighting,_ he wanted to say. _There was hitting...and...so much worse..._

He lurched to his feet and began to pace. "How the hell do you think I could have told you? If I had, what reaction do you _think_ you would have had?"

His father was staring at him now, his face sad, and Greg stopped next to the bookcase, leaned against it, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I...I'm not sure," John House admitted, biting his lip. "I...guess it's a good thing you didn't tell me 'til now."

Greg sighed, his brow furrowing, "Look. I'm going to give you two choices. You can take this knowledge and understand that you have grandchildren who will probably be...odd, fiery, nitpicky, overachieving little smartasses. And who just happen to have three parents. Or you can decide this is perverse and they're little devil children like their daddy and--"

"I never thought you were a...little devil child," John interrupted softly and Greg looked at him, his face paling. "You thought I believed that?"

Greg didn't answer and John's mouth started to fall open before he caught himself. "I've never, ever thought that."

Greg blinks, then, and Jimmy doesn't want to look at his face because he can see in his mind that Greg is reeling and wishes he wasn't here to see this (because he knows Greg hates it) but is somewhat glad that he is. He feels a bit like a traitor, but doesn't quite know why.

"What did you think?" Greg's voice is quiet...small. Jimmy's never heard it like that before.

"I didn't know. I still don't. I've never been used to you, Greg. Every time I see ya, you're different. That's how it's always been. I've never been able to catch up. I guess I stopped tryin'. But I never...didn't like you. You're my kid. If you were someone else, you wouldn't be. And...I'm sorry about everything that went wrong between us, but I never wanted it to...nobody tells you how to fix somethin' like this. I don't want to be like that with them. Or with you, anymore. I hate not knowin' you. And, I'm sorry, because that's my fault. It was never yours."

Greg stared at his father, his head tilting to the side just a bit. "You mean that?"

John sighed and looked at him with an expression he'd never seen before: regret.

"I never meant anything else."

Then Greg smiled. They smiled. And Jimmy thought it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"We are _not_ naming our children after characters and people associated with your favorite movies! Just because you've seen _Running with Scissors_ and _Serenity_ a billion times--!"

"They're good names! And two of them are real people!"

"And one's a mentally unstable psychic!"

"You say that like that's _her_ fault!"

Lisa threw her hands in the air, letting them come back down to rest gently on her belly. "You're implying there will be more?"

"Well," Greg said, glancing at Jimmy, who was smirking at both of them, clearly enjoying this entire scene. "I don't imagine I'll be getting _myself_ sterilized anytime soon? Jimmy?"

"Hell, no."

Lisa gave them both deadpan looks. "I'm forty, you idiots."

Greg shot her back his deeply familiar, 'I'm totally screwing with you' look and Lisa suddenly wanted very much to laugh. "We can always adopt. They do still do that, here, right?"

Lisa bit her tongue to keep from outright cackling and tried to smother the accompanying grin. "Oh, shut up. James, do you have any suggestions for names?"

"I..." Jimmy's mouth quirked up into that shy grin they both loved so much. "Like River. She's my other favorite character. Besides Simon."

"You only like her because Greg plays her whenever you two watch _Serenity_--and you play Simon!"

Jimmy made his 'rebuttal-face', then, and topped it off with the 'index finger exclamation'. "That's not the only reason. They have a lot in common--mainly, the being crazy."

Greg smirked, "And you have the smothering, protecting mother figure down pat. Now, if only you could get rid of that pesky penis--"

"And you yours--"

"Off-topic!" Lisa cut-in, now unable to keep from giggling. "Unless you two have a secret desire to be lesbians, get back on it."

"As fun as I'm sure that would be, it would probably involve you getting your own penis reattached, otherwise--"

Lisa grabbed a pillow and threw it in Greg's face. He fell back and nearly tumbled off the couch. His subsequent yell echoed through the house and they froze.

"I'm just saying, I think you'd enjoy it more," Greg quickly finished. "But I really hope we didn't just wake my parents. Put ideas in their heads."

"Oh, like you care about the ideas," Lisa hissed, rolling her eyes. Once the calm resettled, they resumed their discussion.

"Again. I like River. And Evan. Even if it _is_ for a girl. It's unique...they'll be unique...to say the least. And if they ever _do_ get a brother, why couldn't we name him Augusten? But...we do need other names. We've already decided they're going to be Jewish, after all."

"That will wait until they're officially born," Greg said quietly. "And-or adopted."

Lisa nodded, leaning back into Jimmy's side. Greg's ankle was lying under hers now, him having shifted back into a sitting position.

"So...my ideas aren't going down in flames?"

"You're lucky--"

"No," Jimmy interrupted, smiling at both of them. Lisa stuck out her tongue.

"Anyway, the final 'Harry Potter' just came out--you're lucky he didn't suggest anything from that."

"There's nothing wrong with--"

"Shh," Jimmy interrupted gently, a teasing light in his eye. "She hasn't finished reading it yet!"

"I haven't read _any_ of them," Lisa clarified and Greg looked scandalized.

"That...is so wrong. Jimmy, go get my copies. We _must_ fix this immediately."

Jimmy jumped up and dashed off, a burgeoning laugh in his throat.

"I don't _want_ to read them," Lisa asserted, but Greg shook his head.

"You don't know what you're missing. Besides, we want to share them with the kids. Whatever will we do if they ask Mommy which Weasley twin she likes better and she has no idea what they mean?"

"Ask Daddy?" Lisa suggested, slight derision in her tone. "Or Papa?" She looked at Jimmy, who was quickly returning with an entire stack of hardcover books. "You're both insane if--"

"Lise," Jimmy said softly and she felt her breath leave her. "This is high-risk. Every pregnancy we achieve from here on out will be the same. We've all known that. You're on mandatory bedrest nearly all the time now. You're probably bored out of your skull. It won't hurt to let your imagination take the wheel for a little while. Besides, they're all finished now. You won't have the agonizing wait that we did. Plus, after the seventh, you can decide if you agree with us about that..."

Greg grimaced and Jimmy trailed off, his face a vague imitation of one.

"About what?" Lisa asked, knowing she was being reeled in, but most of her not caring very much.

"I don't know," Greg said petulantly. "You've flatly refused..."

"Because _that_ stops you, yeah."

"And there's thousands of pages here. You're supposed to be resting..."

"You two will be doing the reading," Lisa countered and they both grinned.

"We could," Jimmy agreed, plucking the first book off the top of the stack. "You know, I _really_ think you'll like these."

"Yeah, the sociopathy is evenly spread throughout each gender...well, no, but I think Bellatrix makes up for every other male Death Eater and then some." Greg made a face, shuddering slightly.

"She certainly puts her heart into it," Jimmy added, cringing. "Quite the committed psycho...or should we wish?"

"She _was_ in Azkaban all those blessed years..."

"Will you two please stop mentioning characters and places I don't know and _read_, please?"

They were finished by the end of the week. Lisa laughed the next time they went into Borders and brought home samples of Blood Pops, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Jelly Slugs, and Chocolate Frogs. She grinned when they added the Lindor truffles they knew she loved so much.

"No pigging out on all this," Greg told her in a falsely authoritative tone. "We don't want to have to treat you or the tadpoles for insulin shock."

"Did you just call me a frog?"

"Better than a toad--better than an Umbridge."

Lisa was forced to agree.

Was it a coincidence that his parents came to visit the week Lisa went into labor? House didn't want to think about that. All he wanted to think about was strangling every OB-GYN he could get his hands on. Jimmy grabbed his wrist, stopping him on his umpteenth length of the balcony above the operating theater and handed him one of the Chocolate Frogs they'd bought the week before.

"It's only in the books that--"

Jimmy rounded on him, glaring sharply. "At this point, I'm a hair's breadth from dosing you with enough alprazolam to knock you out for a week, now shut up and eat the fucking chocolate."

"Chocolate has caffeine in it," House muttered mutinously, but ripped the package open and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. "Do you think we might have been responsible?" he asked around a mouthful of chocolate.

"How on Earth would that be possible?" Blythe asked, giving her son and his partner confused looks in turn.

"We read her the last Harry Potter book. It was...well, she cried really, really hard. Just like the fifth...and the sixth...and the fourth, actually..."

"Wasn't that last week?"

"Well, I've reread the seventh book six times since then, so I really can't say if she hasn't. Unlike her, we haven't been allowed to sit on our butts at home, blissed out on hormones and--"

"Blissed out?" Blythe asked in a 'surely you jest' tone.

Greg gave her a small smile. "Slight exaggeration. Anyway, so she's getting to lie about at home, doing nothing, and we haven't--"

"No," John laughed, raising an eyebrow at his son and...son-in-law? "Lisa says you two do that here enough."

"He does," Jimmy protested and House rolled his eyes. "I..."

"She says that you go in Greg's office and all work stops," Blythe added, chuckling at them. "She'll find the two of you staring idly at the ceiling."

"It's his fault," Jimmy maintained feebly. Greg was ignoring them all, staring down into the theater. Usually, Jimmy was the tense one, worrying about everything while Greg sat back, watched, and occasionally took matters into his own hands to end the turmoil. Today, it seemed, the roles were switched.

It wasn't until he could see them with his own eyes, swathed in their yellow and green (the three of them had insisted) blankets, that House was able to breathe again.

Their namecards said **Baby Girl Wilson 1** and **Baby Girl Wilson 2**. They'd known he needed it and he'd been too busy crying to object.

Seven days later, they were given '_girl_-bris', as Greg called it, and were named. River Adara Wilson and Evan Lael Wilson. If anyone thought they were strange choices, no one said.

He guesses they had too many to choose from to be specific.

FIN


End file.
